


Regret Cannot Change the Past, But Perhaps It Can Shape the Future

by ShadowsofaChronicle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, CAPtured Steve, Capture, Civil War Fix-It, Couples Counseling Needed, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fix-It, Flip Phone, Forgiveness, Gen, Going Home, Healing, Natasha is queen, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sam Wilson is a Cinnamon Roll, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony and Steve are Stupid, Torture, Trauma, communication issues, not sorry, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:10:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsofaChronicle/pseuds/ShadowsofaChronicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The phone was huge and ugly and inconvenient, he really should get rid of it. Almost did. He held it above the trash can one day, kept almost dropping it in and then holding on tighter and finally putting it back into his pocket after realizing that if someone found it, especially someone of more of a ‘Secretary of State’ nature, then Steve would be screwed. Not that he owed him anything, but it was the principle of the matter. You didn’t screw over people you saved the world with. Twice. Unless you did."</p><p>Tony has no regrets, except he does, but whatever. It continues until the phone rings and it's not Steve on the other end, because Steve can't be on the other end, because Steve's been taken and has been gone for three weeks and they have no leads. </p><p>Working title: CAPtured AU. There has to be something amusing, because essentially, everyone's not okay, but they will be. It's just a work in progress getting there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret Cannot Change the Past, But Perhaps It Can Shape the Future

The burner phone was heavier than it should be. Tony knew that flip-phones were archaic, practically dinosaurs (A small part of his brain figured that that was appropriate enough of a comparison, given who sent it.), but there was no way it could be this heavy. It was always smacking against his leg through his suit jackets, burning through a jeans pocket. And it was massive. An eye-sore, really. Constantly managing to be distracting as he moved about the room. 

Honestly, it was like having a clingy girlfriend who for the life of you, you couldn’t remember why you started to date. Demanding of attention, largely unpleasant, inconvenient, and unwilling to give anything is return. Except clingy girlfriends never made him feel guilty before. Before Pepper, they wouldn’t have been around long enough, with Pepper, she was the furthest from clingy you could get (A better word for her would have been perfection in all honesty. Except not perfection. Perfection worked, that was the point. It didn’t work. Why didn’t it work? Mom and dad made it work, what was different?) After Pepper… There wasn’t an after Pepper, not really, not now, maybe not ever. Who else would be able to stand him?

Irrelevant. The point was, the phone was huge and ugly and inconvenient, he really should get rid of it. Almost did. He held it above the trash can one day, kept almost dropping it in and then holding on tighter and finally putting it back into his pocket after realizing that if someone found it, especially someone of more of a ‘Secretary of State’ nature, then Steve would be screwed. Not that he owed him anything, but it was the principle of the matter. You didn’t screw over people you saved the world with. Twice. Unless you did. Whatever, it wasn’t his fault, it was Steve and his values and his constant freaking insistence of his old assassin traitor pal’s innocence, even when there clearly wasn’t any innocence to defend. 

(Except there was, because mind control and torture and extenuating circumstances, but none of that mattered, because he didn’t see a faceless Hydra murderer. He saw Roger’s best friend and that was who killed his mom. His hand, his action. Tony’s stupid inability to separate, to differentiate. No lines in this head, no sir.)

Clearly, the solution would be to blowtorch it. No evidence to be found in a melted heap of unrecognizable cheap plastic and metal. He lit the flame, but… it didn’t feel like enough. Or too much. One of the two, but it didn’t matter and he had other things to do. The phone was heavy in his pocket.

The solution then became to upgrade it, make it less ugly. Maybe trace it back. But he kept hesitating. Eventually the answer became that he had no reason to find them, no reason to want them back. Not Natasha with her quick wit and ability to call him out on his bullshit, not Clint, with his sarcasm, not Sam with his humor and caring eyes, not Wanda with her small sense of wonder at acceptance or the little fling she had going with Vision.

Not Steve.

So the phone sat in his pocket, on his table, in his lab. Eventually, he started flipping it as a nervous habit (Not one he looked too closely at, it didn’t make him feel better that every one of those people would be there should he call, it didn’t give him any form of happiness thinking about them, about this lifeline. It was just fun to play with. Any flip phone was fun to play with. Maybe there was merit to the idea. No, no merit. It was more like having a typewriter. You wouldn’t use it for functionality or anything, but you kept it around because you liked the idea of it and it looked pretty. Except Tony had always hated flip phones and it looked horrible. Whatever.)

So he worked and helped Rhodey and read Pepper’s distanced work emails that he was fairly certain were written by her secretary and blasted music in the labs and tried to ignore how heavy the phone was. And it worked. Sort of. When he was drunk or with Rhodey, those being separate. And the phone stayed. Until the day that it rang.

He had been engaged in a sass battle with Friday, who was winning (She didn’t pull her punches, not one bit, total dirty player AI) when the phone began to play some awful, grainy, generic ring. Tony froze and stared for a moment, coming back to Friday asking,

“Sir, would you like me to trace the call?” Tony didn’t answer for a moment, still looking but he answered quietly after a moment.

“No, leave it, Friday. Maybe it was a misdial.” Tony hoped it was a misdial. Cap was horrible with phones, the grandpa. (Even though he wasn’t. Small detail.) It gave him a reason not to answer. After a few seconds, the phone went silent and Tony still just stood staring at the phone. It wasn’t supposed to make noise. It was supposed to exist in its corner and he in his, kind of like how the rest of the (former?) Avengers were in their corner and he was here. Separate. (Because they made you be separate. Because you made them be separate. What did you expect? Everyone always leaves. What do you have that would make them stay?) That horrible piece of electronics was not meant to be interactive. It was supposed to be a relic, like the age that it had come from and the friendship of the people that had sent it. 

It was a mistake. That’s all. A mistake. And then it started to make noise again. Damn it. 

Cautiously, he picked up the phone and accepted the call. 

“C- Rogers?” He caught himself before using the title. Not Captain. Not anymore. (Why did you try to take that away from him?) There was a moment of silence before Natasha’s wary voice came through the speaker.

“I need to know if you are willing to help Rogers and if this call is being tracked.” Tony’s head spun. Help Rogers? Like the star-spangled idiot ever wanted help (Why does he need help).

“What, he’s fallen and he can’t get up? Both meanings intended, by the way. And hey, how’s exile? Care to tell me where you are? Just so I can send a care package. You know, random guys with zip on, easy access cloths, handcuffs, the works for a kinky getaway with dubious characters. Al-, “

“He’s been taken.”

“He-, what do you mean?” Immediately he corrected himself. “No, why should I care. The last time I saw him, I shot his friends arm off, again, and he put his shield into the arc reactor, what in the world do you think puts us on good terms?”

“I know about the letter. Moreover, I know that you are mostly alone and missing people and that you want us back.”

“Oh yeah? How do you figure, super-secret, not so secret spy lady?” Her voice was sharp, but not cruel as she simply said,

“You kept the phone.” He took a sharp breath, ready to launch a wealth of cutting remarks back, but nothing came out. He hated when she was right. His breath gusted out as he slumped against the cold counter behind him. Months of avoiding the reality of the situation, unable to rely on Rhodey, who was dealing with enough, and no one else to go to, he was tired. She was right. Of course she was right.

“What’s going on?” 

“I need to know if this call is being traced.”

“Fine. Friday?” The AI was quick to respond.

“No, boss, I blocked any method of tracing outside of our own.”

“Catch that?”

“Yes. Rogers was taken, about three weeks ago. We were on a stealth op, but they were ready for us, professionals, strong weaponry and fighters. They took Wanda out first; she didn’t even see them coming. After that it was a long fight, we each had our own group, but suddenly they pulled back. It took us a few minutes, then we realized Steve was gone and tried following but they went to ground and we haven’t found any leads as to where.”

Tony was quiet for a moment. Three weeks was a long time. He was pretty sure Rogers wasn’t dead, he knew useful stuff and the serum in his veins was enough for a lot of people, but most especially that they took him in the first place. Say what you will about the man, Rogers was not an easy guy to take down. You had to want it. (Did you want it?)

“Wait, you said you didn’t have leads on where, but do you have leads on who?” Silence took the line and dread pooled in Tony’s gut. “Natasha, who?”

“We’re not sure, not entirely.”

“Who?” He had this awful feeling that he knew too.

“Hydra.”

There were points where Tony Stark wished he wasn’t right too.

“Where are you?”

“Tony, this puts you in a bad place, if any of them find out-“

“Where. Are. You?”

“…Wakanda.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you thought and I hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading! 
> 
> SoaC


End file.
